


oh, but I do

by cumtogether



Category: Agent Carter (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Insecurity, True Love, reference to an ableist remark, sex but its vague and not at all explicit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-11
Updated: 2019-05-11
Packaged: 2020-02-28 04:53:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18749407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cumtogether/pseuds/cumtogether
Summary: "Give it up. No girl's gonna trade in a red, white, and blue shield for an aluminum crutch."The words taunt him. They're a constant reminder that no matter how much Daniel loves Peggy, he's no Captain America.





	oh, but I do

**Author's Note:**

> I rewatched Agent Carter and was very upset by how much I enjoyed Dan and Peg's relationship, but also the line implying Peggy being with Daniel was a downgrade got me thinking about how Steve's memory would affect the two of them so here's this I guess. Please note it has been........a long time since I've written anything heterosexual
> 
> title is from [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EPryPI6GC_s%E2%80%9D)

It takes less than two minutes for the metal of Daniel’s crutch to freeze in the late-night winter air, making him feel like he’s clutching a pole of ice instead of his form of support. By the time he gets to his door, his fingers are red raw and numb, feeling like they might snap off at any moment, and his frustration only boils up more with each second he fumbles, one-handed, to reach for his keys and let himself in. He steps in and leans against the entrance wall, breathing out sharply and uncurling the fist around his crutch, stretching out his fingers, waiting impatiently for the frost to thaw. Every moment he spends in discomfort only makes the knot in his stomach grow tighter.

The knot was first tied that morning, loose, just a nagging pull at first, but as the day went on it was tugged more and more, harder and harder, until his whole body felt like it was being manhandled and the bitterness in his throat became impossible to swallow without choking. He had locked himself in his office and watched the hands on the clock turning, this day of all days, year after year, moving achingly slowly. He didn’t speak to anyone, and prayed no one wanted to speak to him, for fear the constriction in his gut - the same kind that arrives annually without fail - would overwhelm him and he’d snap at someone who didn’t deserve it.

Insecurity breeds the spite in him, and he knows this; instead of letting himself crumple further into a pitiful, pathetic husk, he lashes out, and it’s today, as it is every year, that his self-consciousness is at its worst. The anniversary of the death of Ray Krzeminski. This was a man - who’s demise was mourned as a tragedy by every single one of his coworkers - who ruthlessly tore Daniel to shreds almost daily, who reminded him of his shortcomings and picked apart his failures, making him feel like less of a man, and worst of all, he informed him, with absolute certainty, that he was a downgrade from Peggy’s previous sweetheart.

“Daniel?” Hearing Peggy’s voice, usually, is like hearing his favourite song for the first time in years, but today it feels like another hand around his neck. “Darling, is that you?”

“I’m in the hall, Peg,” he calls back. He hears the strain in his own voice.

She appears to greet him within seconds, showing off her perfect teeth through a red-lipped smile. Her face is rosy, and lovely, and absolutely radiant. It makes Daniel want to cry.

“Hiya, honey,” he says instead, and she kisses his cheek, the usual warmth blooming from the spot where her lips meet his skin. A small comfort.

“I just got in a few minutes ago,” she tells him cheerily, offering her hand automatically to help him through to their front room. It’s so easily become part of their routine that he doesn’t usually notice her doing it. Today he does. “Oh, and the kettle’s just boiled. Would you like a cup of tea?”

“Nah, I’m good,” he says, hoping the despair welling up in his chest isn’t carrying into his voice.

But Peggy is Peggy. She notices.

“Is anything the matter?” she asks, leading the pair of them down onto the couch and giving him the concerned big browns.

And _God_ , Daniel is so utterly in love with her, and he wants to believe with all his heart that she’s sincere, and he knows that he should tell her the truth and he _knows_ that she would be honest with him, but it’s her honesty that he’s afraid of now. If he confides in her, lets her know what’s really bothering him, and she confirms even slightly what he fears, it’ll break him.

“My leg’s been botherin’ me all day, is all,” he says, and it isn’t technically a lie, which is probably what makes it convincing enough for her to believe.

“Oh dear,” she hums, furrowing her brow, and it’s so beautiful. She is beautiful. His wife. The guilt of concealing his feelings from her begins to eat at him immediately, and the back of his neck burns with shame, and the knot tightens more, and he thinks he might be asphyxiating. “Is there anything I can do?”

“I was thinkin’ of just havin’ a bath,” he says, unable to meet her eyes for too long. Her gaze is piercing.

“Wonderful idea,” she says, springing up from the cushions. “Why don’t I get that running and you finish my tea for me in the meantime?”

“You wanna join me?” he asks, his heart giving a pleased little flutter, as if it’s not something they do regularly, and she gives him a tight, close-lipped, eye crinkling smile so fond that if he wasn’t sitting down already he’d fall over.

“Yes, I think so,” she says, as if she’s thinking about it. “It’d be a waste of water if we washed separately, wouldn’t you agree?”

With that, she spins on her heel and skips out of the room. The thoughts, _I am the luckiest guy on Earth_ and _she’s too good for me_ crash into his mind at once, colliding, making him wince, bringing Krzeminski’s poison rushing back into his veins and sending his head spinning. He grips his crutch. It’s warmed up considerably since he got in out of the cold outdoors, but the cool metal still feels harsher than usual, and it takes him a good few moments to wobble back to his feet. In the kitchen, he can steady himself on the counter, and he puts his crutch against the drawers and sets about assembling Peggy’s tea, savouring the feeling of using both hands.

He knows he won’t snap at Peggy. They’ve been married just under a year and have always managed to avoid arguing over anything trivial, since the nature of their jobs mean their lives are in more danger than most couples’, and they both refuse to die knowing their last exchange was a row about who’s turn it was to vacuum the study. They’re both rational, and they’ve been through too much together to allow themselves to fall into disarray. So Daniel knows he won’t allow himself to hold any resentment towards her, much less display it, but it doesn’t stop him from harbouring the occasional concern that she pursued a relationship with him out of pity. It doesn’t stop him from remembering just who exactly the man she loved before him was.

There’s a picture of Steve Rogers on the dresser in their room, framed in ornate silver, and it’s obscured slightly by perfume bottles but it’s there and it looms. Daniel doesn’t begrudge Peggy for retaining her affection for him, of course he doesn’t, and in a way the fact that she displays it where she knows he can see it tells him that she trusts he isn’t the jealous type - which he isn’t - so his rational mind ignores it and focuses on the fact that Peggy’s only got eyes for him now. His paranoid mind however, the tiny section lodged in the back of his brain like a shard of glass, keeps replaying Krzeminski’s cruel advice, and all the even worse implication behind it: _give it up. Give it up. Give it up._ _What reason, besides pity, would this woman have for moving on from America’s golden boy to a nobody with only one working leg._

His arms shake. The angry tears in his eyes cloud his vision just enough that he doesn’t notice his elbow knocking towards his crutch until it’s too late, and he lets out a sob of furious despair that makes his throat feel like it’s been ripped open, gripping the countertop so tightly to steady himself that his knuckles turn white. He feels desperate, and pathetic, and he lets himself fall to the floor.

“Peggy,” he cries, not bothering to hide the shaking in his voice. She’ll see him either way. “Peggy! Peg, please-”

She’s at his side suddenly, concern etched into every line on her face, holding his face carefully in her rough, fighting hands, cradling him softly, as if he were made of china, and murmuring his name urgently. They sing a duet of names for a few, drawn out moments, a frightened exchange of _Peggy, Daniel, Peggy, Daniel_ , until he manages to recover himself just enough to bring his hands up to hold hers, with equal care, equal affection, and to look her in the eyes, and say, “I’m fine. I love you.”

“Daniel-” she begins, distressed, her eyes still wide and upset as she brushes tears off his cheeks with her thumbs, and he falls even more in love with her there, on their kitchen floor.

“I’m fine,” he repeats, gentle, rubbing her knuckles with his fingertips. “My crutch fell and I just lost my cool.”

“You frightened me,” she says. Guilt stabs at him and twists in his gut.

“I know,” he says. “I’m sorry.”

“Oh, no, don’t be ridiculous,” she says, her lip quirking up just slightly. “There’s no need to apologise.”

“On the bright side, I got your tea done before I fell,” he tells her, pointing to the counter above them in an attempt to lighten the mood, and to his delight, she laughs. If he had to fight another war just to hear her laugh like that, he would do so without question. He had decided that long ago, but every time he hears it, the thought is reinforced. “Splash of milk, half a sugar.”

“You memorised my tea order?”

“What kinda husband would I be if I didn’t know your tea order?”

“A rotten one,” Peggy says, getting to her feet and pulling Daniel up with her, her hands clasped tightly around his. “Come on, let’s get in that bath before it gets cold.”

He lets her guide him up the stairs, one hand around his waist, the other still clutching his. Her eyes never leave him. They make it to the bathroom without incident, and she helps him settle on the edge of the bath so they can both undress. 

Even after belonging to her for over a year, Daniel still gets the same schoolboy blush on his face as he watches her slide her blouse off, unceremoniously, but still full of grace, showing off her broad, scarred shoulders, which he has held many times, but which never fail to fascinate him. They’ve come a long way from Jack setting him up for an accidental peep in the men’s locker room of their New York office - and Peggy is in no way shy about them seeing each other, bared, anymore - yet he always finds himself in awe of her. She has boxer’s arms and wide, soft hips and a soft stomach, and calloused fingers like his, and a quick, clever tongue, and a smile like a million bucks, and he’s amazed at how she’s able to be hard and soft and fierce and sweet and smart and soft all at once. And now she’s sitting directly opposite him in their little bath, in their bathroom, in _their house_ . He desperately, _desperately_ wants to believe his adoration is mutual. But he’s too scared to ask.

“How was your day, hon?” he asks instead. “Up ‘til just now, I mean.”

“Mm, tremendous,” she sighs, leaning back, closing her eyes, and wriggling her legs so they’re sitting on top of his. “I patched up the Aickman case, so those godawful boarding school boys are out of my hair forever.”

“That’s great, Peg!” he smiles, and relishes the fact that her smile opens up wider at his enthusiasm. “That’s two cold cases you’ve solved in two months.”

“Yes, I am good, aren’t I?” she grins, opening one eye to look at his proud expression.

“And you sure don’t hide it well,” he says.

“Oi!” She pokes his chest with her foot, an expression of mock offence on her face. “I think I’m entitled to a little ego every now and again.”

“I’m kiddin’, I’m kiddin’!” he laughs, swatting at her foot. “Of course you are. I’m proud of you, Peg.”

“Thank you, darling,” Peggy says, her eyes scrunching up sweetly with the sincerity of her smile. “And you? How was your day?”

“Ugh-” he begins instinctively, and as soon as he sees Peggy’s bright eyes dim, he knows he’s going to have to spill his guts sooner rather than later.

“Oh, no,” she says, and he takes a deep breath in.

“You know today-.” He inhales sharply. Breathes out. Breathes in. Breathes out. Peggy simply watches him, waiting until he’s ready, patient and understanding. “Today marks two years since Krzeminski...kicked it.” She gives a quiet gasp, but she doesn’t interrupt. “And first off, I feel like I should be sad about it, but I’m not, and I feel bad for not bein’ sad.”

“That’s no crime,” Peggy says, slowly. Carefully. Like she’s treading around a minefield. “He was a wanker.”

“Yeah,” Daniel agrees, suddenly lowering his eyes away from hers. “That’s the other thing.”

She shuffles forward, creating tiny waves that lap at his chest, until she’s close enough to take his hand.

“Tell me what’s wrong,” she says, but there’s no instruction there. Just concern. A desire to help. “Daniel.”

“The night before he d-” Daniel takes another breath, and feels her give his hand an encouraging squeeze. “He said something to me.”

His heart is pounding in his ears. Everything is deafeningly loud: the gentle splashing of the bathwater, both of their slow breathing, the hum of the boiler, the faint drone of the downstairs radio, amplified to a cacophony of noise, ringing, making him feel dizzy and sick, making the knot in his stomach tighter and tighter and tighter until he can barely breathe. He’s petrified. He’s given everything to Peggy - his hands and his heart - and she’s stuck with him all the while, but he’s about to bare the final piece of his soul up to her, and if she turns and runs now he doesn’t know if he’ll survive the pain. But there she is, staring at him, holding him, offering her undivided attention, fretting over him as he would if she needed him to, and he is so utterly, completely, head over heels in love with her, and he decides she’s worth the risk.

He’s memorised the words. He knows them by heart, and they’re always ready on his tongue, but he’s never repeated them, never dared, or even _wanted_ to speak them aloud. But he has to. He has to.

“No girl’s gonna trade in a red, white, and blue shield for an aluminum crutch.”

They hang there, in the silence, and time passes and keeps passing without another sound. Daniel had half hoped that getting them out in the open, out of his system, sharing them with someone else, would free him of the weight, but suddenly he feels more constrained than ever, the despair, bitterness, _anger_ in his throat feeling tighter than ever with every second that flicks by. He feels himself begin to cry again. Silently. Furiously.

“Do you think he was right?”

Peggy’s voice sounds like glass shattering. He looks up at her, and her face shows him the same wrath that he feels, though he’s not sure who her rage is directed at.

“I-.”

“Daniel Sousa.” Her voice is indescribable. It seems to carry every single possible human emotion within it, and more besides. “Do you think he was right.”

“I don’t know.”

And just like that, he has offered her the last truth he has left to give.

She, then, lowers her eyes away, taking her hands off him and pushing herself back to the opposite end of the bath. As he watches her, the tight, stony face falls away into what looks more like dismay, and her shoulders slump and she seems to want to make herself smaller, like the anger has deflated out of her and instead left her limp and hollow. Her breathing is heavy. It wavers in the silence. She’s hidden her face from him so he doesn’t realise she’s crying until a tear drips from her face into the bathwater - just a tiny splash - and Daniel feels like someone’s just ripped his heart out.

“Peg?”

“Oh, Daniel!” Peggy cries, throwing herself suddenly back into his arms and clinging to him so tightly that her nails dig into the flesh of his shoulders. He doesn’t feel the pain. He just feels her. It’s an explosion of movement, sending waves of bathwater spilling out onto the floor, and soap suds bursting into the air around them, and Peggy’s skin is ice cold against his - cold as the bathroom tile at his back - but none of that matters. She’s in his arms, solid, and _real_ , and nothing else is as important as that.

“I love you,” he murmurs, almost by instinct, into the soft curls of her hair that tickle his lips and neck and bob along with her soft crying, “forget what he said. Forget it. I love you, Peggy. I love you.”

“I love you, Daniel,” she gasps, at his neck, and he can feel her smiling which is terrifying and a relief all at once. “I need you to know-.”

“I know,” he says.

“No, you don’t,” Peggy sighs, springing into action and standing up, “oh, you don’t. Come, let’s get dried off.” She offers her his hands. Helps him to his feet. “We’ll go to the bedroom, I’ll put some dressing on your leg and we can- we’ve got to talk about this.”

“I’m sorry I brought this up,” Daniel says, scrubbing at his face, but she shakes her head furiously and smiles through her tears at him.

“Don’t be silly,” she says. “This is important.”

They rub themselves dry and wrap themselves in their robes, and Daniel’s heart is pounding still, because even though the momentary wrath in her eyes dimmed and faded away, and even though she held him close and promised she loves him, that wasn’t the end of it, and he can sense that he isn’t totally out of the woods yet. He sits on his side of the bed, propped up against the headboard with his legs stretched out in front of him, and just watches the movements her fingers make as she takes the pins out of her hair. Once she’s done, she picks the pot of pain-relief dressing off the dresser, and climbs on top of the duvets to settle by his side.

“When the war ended,” she begins, twisting off the lid and gathering dressing into her hands, “and I went back to my old position at the SSR, I thought- I had _hoped_ that I’d be commended for my contribution to the war effort just as much as the men were.” Her voice is soft, but there’s a thread of sadness beneath her practised calm, which Daniel knows all too well, and almost without thinking he moves to place his hand over the one of hers which is holding his leg steady. She doesn’t take her eyes off what she’s doing, but her teeth emerge just slightly from behind her lips in the slightest tremor of a smile. “Not only did that not happen, but I was also only considered worthy of note because of certain people I worked with. I was not allowed to be Agent Carter, or even Peggy Carter, really, I was either Captain America’s colleague or Captain America’s whore.”

Daniel winces.

“I’m sorry you had to go through all that,” he offers, quietly, squeezing her hand, and she hums.

“I’m still going through that, Daniel,” she sighs, but he can tell the waves of irritation coming from her are not for him. “The thing is, I’m not upset at the association. I’m incredibly proud to be connected to that man. But I know very well that when people think of him, they think of the huge, gleaming, uniformed propaganda posters, and that’s not right. They should think of the man who tried to protect his fellows from a grenade explosion, and who flew behind enemy lines on the off chance his friend was alive, and who saw in me what I had previously thought was only visible to myself. That was why he was special, and-.”

She pauses, squeezing her eyes tightly shut, hovering her hands over Daniel’s leg and inhaling suddenly. She’s angry, and he knows this, because she’s more careful about bursts of anger than she is letting herself cry. Her tears can’t hurt anyone but her fists definitely can. So he waits for her to inhale, exhale, and inhale and exhale again, her releases of breath sharp, and shaky along with the trembling of her whole body that accompanies her rage. He holds her hand, and lets her calm down. When she does, she opens her eyes, and continues as if nothing had happened.

“God, I knew very well lots of people thought I was shallow to love him,” Peggy says, desperation in her eyes, and he can tell she’s been hiding this from him for as long as he’s been hiding his scars from her. “No one understood that I never loved Captain America.” She looks to the picture of Steve on their dresser. “But that didn’t bother me until I met you.” Daniel’s eyes widen. When he turns to meet her eyes, she’s watching him, fear set deep into her face. She sighs. “I liked you by default when you decided you were going to be the only person in that office to treat me as an equal, but that wasn’t enough for you. You became my friend, and you looked out for me, you stuck up for me, you believed in what I had to offer, and I knew that you too could see what I’m worth.”

“I do,” Daniel says, almost a gasp. “I did then, and I always have, and I do.”

“You do,” Peggy agrees, nodding, moving so she’s in front of him, taking his face in her hands and locking their eyes together. “And it concerned me so much that you would believe exactly something like what Krzeminski told you.”

“I know you’re not shallow, Peg,” Daniel insists. “I never thought that.”

“I was afraid that- _God_ , Krzeminski, that _bastard_ , I was afraid of you not believing me!” Peggy’s hands have moved from his face down to the sides of his neck, and he watches her face, wild with desperation, knowing he looks exactly the same, and pulls her closer to him by the waist. “I was scared you’d never think I was genuine, you’d never _know_ how in love with you I was, and still am, all because of _bloody_ Captain America.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” he says, almost pleading with her to understand him, bringing a hand up to stroke her hair. “It was my own shortcomings that were the problem. I felt like a nobody, and you were _somebody_ , you were everything, fierce and smart and beautiful and it made sense that you _should_ be with someone like him because you’re both one of a kind.”

“But that’s it!” Peggy cries, in a tone like she’s had an epiphany, but also like she’s known this all along, “that’s just it. You beautiful man, _you_ ’ _re_ one of a kind, and I want to be with _you_ . You’re not a downgrade, or a replacement, or second best, you’re the man who saved my life twice and makes me laugh and whom I _chose_ to marry because I love you. I love you.”

“I love you too,” Daniel says, gazing up at Peggy, swelling with wonder and adoration.

His vision is filled with her, his mind and heart and soul filled with nothing else besides _her_ , loving and kissing and touching her, listening to her baring herself to him and baring himself back and letting her consume all his thoughts and dreams. He kisses her then, and feels her shift position so she’s only straddling and putting pressure on his working leg, and knowing that she knows automatically to do that so she won’t hurt him delights him enough that he lets out an actual, joyous laugh. The smile that she gives him in return makes his chest ache, a pain that reminds him he’s alive; it’s so radiant that he forgets what it feels like to be cold. They duet again, _Peggy, Daniel, Peggy, Daniel_ , in between breathy notes of  _I love you, I love you_ , meaning it more with each repetition, saying it over and over as if they would ever forget. Despite the freezing weather outside he has never been more warm, every touch from his wife like a ray of summer sun, and he, as ever, knows he’s safe, in her embrace, then inside her, watching and hearing and feeling the love radiating from her back to him, then lying beside her, hands twined together.

Daniel’s face, neck, and shoulders are covered in smudged red stains, and he watches Peggy trailing her finger between each one, chuckling to herself, almost proudly. They’ll rub off on the pillows, he knows, but he can’t bring himself to care, instead letting his eyes follow her trail, from the hollow of his throat, then to just above his armpit, and finally down to his chest, where she lets her fingers fan out and come to rest, and he brings his hand up to lay over hers. She smiles at him, and he smiles back, and as ever, as is routine, she falls asleep first. And as ever, Daniel gives her a soft kiss on the forehead, and knows she can feel it.

They know each other by heart.

**Author's Note:**

> Follow me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/cumtcgether%E2%80%9D) for more nonsense


End file.
